


Here On the Cement Floor

by cinnamontoastcronch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Brother Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Little Brother Sam, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamontoastcronch/pseuds/cinnamontoastcronch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 11</p><p>Sam struggles with his new visions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here On the Cement Floor

I don't know what the Men of Letters built this place for, really. It seemed livable. Kitchen, bedrooms, library. But it wasn't... A home. There wasn't a soft place to land if you fell. Because it wasn't meant for that, it was meant for work.

I sat on the floor of the kitchen, wishing that it wasn't made of concrete. In my right hand, I clutched a now melting ice cube. It was burning in my hand. I'm sure it was going to leave a mark, but I didn't care. I just needed something.

Today was bad. It wasn't nearly as bad as the cage. Or Dean's time in hell, but, God it was still hell. Cas took the edge off, the insanity. But the memory was always there. It doesn't go away. You can't relieve someone of that trauma. No one can.

I tilted my head back until it hit the back wall. And it was something, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. So I held the ice cube tighter. 

It was probably the tamest thing I could have done. I had knives. I could have hurt myself worse. But I wasn't even trying to hurt myself. Not really. I just needed to feel something.

I wasn't expecting Dean to walk in. And as much as I wanted him to stay here, to just be, just exist in the same place as me so I'm not alone, right now I wanted to disappear. Because he didn't need this. Didn't need me having a fucking meltdown. 

Because then he'd take over. Switch into big brother mode and that is not what we fucking needed right now we needed to be taking down Amara.

I held my breath and curled into a tight ball and shit, because my feet scuffed too loudly across the floor and now all there was to do was wait for Dean to find me.

"Sam?"

Go away.

I heard his feet shuffle.

"Sammy?" He stood right in front of me. 

My hand was still lying on the ground, water dripping steadily onto the floor. I didn't say a word.

I could feel the floor creak as Dean crouched down. My head was still buried in my knees.

Dean wrapped his fingers around my wrist, pulling it slowly toward him. God, he was treating me like a wounded animal. Dean gently coaxed my fingers open and the ice cube fell to the ground. My breath hitched and my head snapped up, embarrassing tear tracks now dry on my cheeks.

"Sam, what--"

"I'm sorry, I just--" The words burst out of me, and I regretted their volume instantly. I exhaled shakily and lowered my voice to a whisper. "I just needed to feel something..." 

Dean didn't speak. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting anyway. Anger? Fear? None of those made much sense. 

He dropped my wrist and stood. He was leaving. Which was good. I wanted that. But at the same time a childish voice in the back of my mind screamed; pleasepleaseplease don't leave me.

I stared at the redness in my hand. The imprint of the ice cube was still there. But the feeling was gone now. Forgotten. And I needed something else.

I almost didn't feel Dean sit down next to me. He sat cross legged, staring calmly ahead. Just being a presence. 

His hand reached out again, fingers closing around my wrist and pulling my hand into his lap. He brushed his thumb back and forth across my palm. He was over writing the sense memory. Giving me something good to feel.

I stole a glance at his face, almost expecting to see him upset, or something. But he was just...calm. Not even phased. Like this whole situation wasn't totally screwed up. Like it was normal that he had to go comfort his little brother who was practically having a mental breakdown in middle of the night. 

And then I remembered. Dean knew. He knew what no one else in the entire world knew except me and him. 

He knew about hell. 

Dean remembered what it was like to feel nothing and everything at the same time. To have pain so intensely horrifying that eventually nothing else reaches you anymore. Like all your feelings have been disconnected from your body, and even though the agony is gone, so is everything else that makes you feel human. Because the raw pain has left, but the dull, deep hurt is always there. Eventually you start to crave it because, God, at least it's something. 

Dean didn't speak. Which was good. I didn't want words. Words could be lies just as easily as they could be truth. And once you knew that, almost all of them were empty.

We sat for a long time, Dean tracing different patterns on my palm. Slowly, feeling seeped back into me. Cold, hard, real feeling. I was tired. Really, bone deep, soul deep tired.

Dean must have noticed. With his free hand he reached up and patted his shoulder invitingly, smiling gently. 

I hesitated.

"S'okay..." Barely a whisper left his mouth. 

Shuffling further down, I carefully laid my head on Dean's shoulder. It had been so long since I had. I thought it would feel strange. Unwelcome. That'd I be too big. But I somehow still fit perfectly.

Dean let go of my hand, instead bringing his arm up to settle around my shoulders.

He started the same pattern with his thumb again.

We sat in silence.

"Sam?"

I tensed a little. Did he want me gone? Off his shoulder? Not bothering him like this anymore?

He tightened his hold on me a little, silently dismissing all my other thoughts.

"You know we're gonna be okay, right?" His voice was a soft southern rumble. One that only came out when he was calm. Calm and happy.

I tried to muster up my voice, but it came out small and broken. "How?"

"Cause we always are." I could hear the smile in his tone, and really, what the hell was there to smile about? Cas too afraid to leave the house? Me too afraid to sleep? The fucking Darkness?

I just shook my head miserably. 

"No, hey, I mean it, Sam. We're always okay." He started rubbing my shoulder again. "And, look... shit happens, Sam. Every damn time. Sometimes we don't make it out. It's how it always goes: We fight the monster, monster fights back, something bad happens to one of us. You, or me, or Cas, it always does."

Dean paused, taking a deep breath. "But the point is: end of the day, we're still here. Back in the bunker or back in the car. And sometimes there's fallout. There is. But, Sam... we're okay.

"Alright? 

"...Sammy?"

Suddenly I was nodding vigorously because, God, when was the last time Dean had called me that? The real Dean? Not out of fear, or sadness. Not anger and evil from when he was a demon and wanted to smash my head in with a fucking hammer.

I couldn't remember the last time he had called me that when things were just... okay.

And then the meaning of Dean's words hit me. We were okay. Sure, things were screwed to hell outside, but it didn't matter. Because, right here, right on this cold, concrete floor in the middle of the night we were fine. 

Dean pulled me closer, rested his cheek on my head, and I knew we always would be.


End file.
